


Stopwatch

by CourierNinetyTwo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 22:52:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7732927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tracer makes a bet that's a lot more difficult to win than she expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stopwatch

**Author's Note:**

> Written off an OW kinkmeme prompt.

It was the third time that day.  
  
Tracer braced her foot against the wall of the shower and held in another whimper, fingers working at a lighting-fast pace under her suit. She was wet, so wet that she was nearly dripping and it was a miracle something hadn’t soaked through by now, but that didn’t stop a slightly calloused thumb from brushing her clit or another series of knuckle-deep thrusts.  
  
Going fast like this made things worse in a way, pushing her close to the edge in minutes instead of drawing it out, but after days of this, Tracer couldn’t take it slow anymore. She needed it quick and hard, and for fuck’s sake, she needed to _come_.

Without slowing the pace of her right hand, Tracer bumped the communicator on the other wrist against her knee, letting out a moan between clenched teeth as the call connected. No one should have been in the locker room right now – that’s why she always chose this stall, knowing she could flip on the water at any time and hide what she was up to – but it was still bloody hard not to make noise and draw the wrong kind of attention.  
  
“Tracer?” Mercy’s voice carried across the line, calm and professional like always, as if she didn’t know why she was being called.  
  
“Mercy, you’ve gotta let me–” She choked out.  
  
“No.” The dismissal was immediate but not cold. “I’m not giving you permission.”  
  
It was impossible for Tracer to mute the whine that left her throat, especially when the friction of her glove against slick, sensitive folds was threatening to drive her straight-up mad. “But doc–”  
  
“Have you been following the rules?” Mercy asked, the warm suggestion woven through her voice convincing Tracer that the older woman knew what she was up to right this second. “You’ve been so well-behaved this week.”  
  
“‘m touching myself just like you told me, but I can’t–oh, fuck–” Tracer’s hips jerked hard, a warning that she was close to the point of no return. “Angela, please–”  
  
For a moment there was silence over the line, and Tracer was sure she’d talked Mercy into it when the order carried across the line. “Come to my office.”  
  
“R-right now?” Tracer stammered out, forcibly withdrawing her fingers and fighting the urge to collapse back against cold tile. Something had to help her cool off.  
  
“Yes, right now.” Mercy confirmed, sounding surprisingly pleased. “And I’m not giving you permission yet, Lena. I know you can hold out for me after enduring so long.”  
  
The praise filled her with a satisfying glow, just enough of a distraction to put herself together in a blink of an eye and zip out of the locker room. Tracer gave a blurry wave to Winston and Mei as she passed them in the hall to allay suspicion, but thankfully they were too immersed in a conversation about global warming that she didn’t catch a single syllable of.  
  
Another accelerated skip took her right to Mercy’s door, and Tracer didn’t bother knocking before pressing her thumb against the security pad and darting inside. The door slid shut behind her with the hush of hydraulics right as Tracer’s eyes locked on the calendar behind Mercy’s head.  
  
To anyone else it would look like the average digital day planner, filled with notes on meetings and conferences, but only Tracer knew what the red circles around the last six days were for, and her thighs pressed tightly together in sympathy. Just because she wasn’t touching herself anymore didn’t mean the ache had gone away.  
  
“Right on time as usual.” Mercy said by way of greeting, the state of her eyes the only proof that this wasn’t a professional meeting. Most of the time, the bright shade of blue was unmistakable, but with her pupils dilated, it was nearly edged out by black.  
  
Tracer laughed, even if her nerves were setting themselves on fire. “Being late never got me nothin’ with you.”  
  
“I do appreciate punctuality.” Leaning back from her desk, Mercy smiled. “Come here, Lena.”  
  
Just hearing the first word in that order made her jumpy, but Tracer was moved without hesitation, slipping around the large wooden desk to where Mercy was sitting. Her eyes widened a bit at the realization that the doctor was wearing a tight black pencil skirt that cut off right above the knee, veering on the racier side of Mercy’s ensemble, edged up higher for a moment as the older woman uncrossed her legs.  
  
“On your knees.” Mercy whispered, and it took a second for the command to sink in before Tracer’s attention snapped away from that flash of thigh and she dropped down to the floor. “Good girl.”  
  
“How am I gonna come like this?” Tracer asked, trying to keep the more desperate whine out of her tone. It didn’t work half as well as she hoped.  
  
“You’re not, sweetheart. You still have one more day.” Slender fingers slid into Tracer’s hair, lightly massaging her scalp and sending pleasant tingles down the younger woman’s spine. “But that doesn’t mean I have to wait, does it?”  
  
Tracer’s answer was cut short as Mercy hiked up her skirt, raising her hips just enough for it to catch up near the tops of both thighs. A set of silky white panties were the only thing underneath, and those were discarded just as quickly, Tracer’s only warning before her head was drawn forward against slick folds. She moaned as the heady scent of arousal washed over her, whetting her lips and offering her tongue up for the first taste.  
  
“Just like that.” A gasp popped out of Mercy’s throat as Tracer put her mouth to work, long strokes from entrance to clit without any sort of hesitation. “Always quick on the uptake, darling.”  
  
She filed away the compliment with a groan, centering her attention on the swell of Mercy’s clit after a few tentative thrusts made the older woman’s hips roll forward against her tongue. Tracer’s face was slick down to the chin already, and there was something satisfying in knowing that Mercy was turned on by the game between them just as much as she was.  
  
“Keep your knees apart,” Mercy said, somehow holding the composure in her voice even though her thighs were starting to quiver around Tracer’s head, “I won’t have mere friction finishing you off ahead of time, Lena.”  
  
A whine came in answer, tight in Tracer’s throat as she kept her legs spread, fighting to keep her lips and tongue focused on Mercy as the movements of her hips grew more erratic. Tracer heard her name gasped in the instant before Mercy’s release, dousing her mouth in more slick arousal that she was eager to lap up and drawing out the pleasure with long, firm licks. It wasn’t until the hand keeping a tight grip in her hair relaxed that she settled back on her haunches, panting for breath and aching more than ever.  
  
“Fuck, Angela, I need it.” She hissed through her teeth, not above looking pathetic on her knees if it meant the doctor would cut her a break.  
  
Mercy’s answer was a slow crossing of her legs, fingers gripping Tracer’s chin to keep the younger woman’s head tilted up sharply. “What I think you need is a little more incentive to be patient.”  
  
Tracer gulped. That was not according to plan.  
  
–  
  
After an hour, Tracer was determined to find whatever smart bastard had figured out a vibrator could fit in someone’s knickers and wring their neck. That is, after she figured out how to walk straight again.  
  
Mercy had promised not to use the remote if she was actually assigned to a mission, but the last day of the week ended up being nothing but meetings, during which Tracer had to do her best not to fidget. That was difficult enough on the average shift, especially when Morrison started talking about how tactics were better back in his day, but now she had to contend with a buzzing against her clit that came and went with Mercy’s whim.  
  
To add insult to injury, the doctor wasn’t actually even in the room, only appearing on the teleconference monitor for reports that she had to give personally. It meant Tracer had no warning when the next set of pulsing vibrations would come, and no way to drag Mercy out of the room and beg for release.  
  
But she did have her phone, and that little screen with its minuscule keyboard was the only thing keeping her sane right now.  
  
_It’s only a few more hours, Lena._ Mercy’s message popped up on one line before another was sent. _Remember at the start of this, when you told me it would be easy?_  
  
_Should have kept my trap shut._ Tracer texted back, thumbs flying over the keys while trying to keep half an eye up on Winston’s presentation about restoring Gibraltar.  
  
_You know I love your confidence._ A light buzz passed through the vibrator, just long enough to hum against Tracer’s clit and make her bite her tongue. _And look how much you’ve endured now. I’m so proud of you, liebling._  
  
That was it. She was going to burn alive sitting in this patched-up leather seat in the middle of a meeting, simply combust between the praise lighting her head up like firecrackers and the constant, relentless ache between her legs. Tracer considered it a miracle she hadn’t soaked through her uniform yet, since she had woken up this morning humping her pillow and unspeakably wet – which was before the vibrator came into play.  
  
_What’ll you let me do when it’s over?_ Tracer managed to text back. If she was focused on spelling out all her words, it was another distraction from the slow pulse now passing through the toy, teasing enough to make her clench tight around nothing.  
  
_I’ll make you come any way you want, Lena._ Her fingers nearly cracked the screen reading that, and Tracer ignored a curious eyebrow from D.va, who had glanced up from the console in her hands for the first time since the presentation started. _As many times as you want._  
  
_Fucking hell. Please don’t make me wait any longer. Please._  
  
For a long moment no reply came, not even another zap from the vibrator, and Tracer was about to resign herself to the fact that Mercy had probably been called away for actual work when the next message arrived. _You have two options._  
  
_I’m listening._ She hammered back, hunched to look at the phone balanced between her knees, no longer caring if Overwatch’s next plan was to launch Gibraltar up to the moon.  
  
_The first is that you skip your last meeting and head straight to my quarters. If you can service me with the toy on, if you can last until I come, I’ll let you off early._ Tracer held in a whimper, wondering what the alternative could possibly be. _The second is that you spend the next two hours behaving in your meeting and can orgasm first thing when you see me._  
  
No risk, no reward – and she was so wound up Mercy could have asked her to breakdance in front of Morrison and she might have given it a moment’s consideration. _First one._  
  
_I’ll be waiting for you. Behave._  
  
Tracer managed to quiet herself just before a sustained buzz went through the toy, ramping her up so quickly it was almost impossible not to spend then and there. With a few slow breaths, she managed to survive the onslaught, collapsing back in her seat as Winston closed his presentation.  
  
“If you have any further questions–” He began, and that was all Tracer heard before she zipped out of the conference room, mumbling a friendly apology as she dashed past the doorway. She could make it up to him with a stack of peanut butter sandwiches later.  
  
Mercy’s personal quarters were attached to her lab, but Tracer knew the back way in, skidding to a stop right in front of the door that would lead her right inside. She knocked, trying not to bounce on her toes and make the vibrator jostle around more than it already had.  
  
The door began to slide and Tracer darted through before it was even halfway open, finding Mercy waiting for her on the edge of the bed. Her labcoat had already been abandoned to a nearby chair, leaving the older woman in a form-fitting white dress and subtle heels, neither of which Mercy usually wore when she was confined to a shift in the clinic, but Tracer had no complaints.  
  
“Good afternoon, Lena.” The doctor smiled, anticipation glittering in bright blue eyes. “Undress for me, please. Except your underwear, of course.”  
  
Tracer didn’t have to be told twice. Her uniform was off in a flash, the straps holding her accelerator tightened back into place before she stripped off the rest, leaving nothing but the tech and her drenched knickers. The cool air of the room pricked against her skin, making her shiver as she followed Mercy’s direction to the bed.  
  
Guided onto her back, Tracer had all of a moment to consider the position before Mercy was straddling her face and she made the welcome realization that the good doctor had foregone panties completely. The first pass of her tongue parted slick curls to expose the sensitive folds underneath, and she was a breath away from diving in when Mercy clicked the remote secreted in her hand. 

It wasn’t a single pulse or even the rolling series of buzzes Tracer had been subject to on and off the whole day, but one constant vibration, and she let out a yelp of protest as her hips jerked up off the bed.  
  
“Focus.” Mercy commanded, her free hand finding a familiar anchor in Tracer’s hair and giving a warning tug. “You don’t get to come until I do, darling.”  
  
Her groan of dismay was promptly muffled when Mercy’s hips rolled against her mouth, and Tracer took the prompt for what it was worth, starting with fast laps of her tongue slipping between parted folds. The taste and heat was all she had to center herself on when the rest of her body was aching, heels digging hard into the sheets to keep from squirming under the constant stimulation of the toy.  
  
“You’ve done so well.” A gasp hitched Mercy’s breath on the last syllable as Tracer fluttered her tongue just so against the older woman’s entrance, delving in for a few light thrusts. “Taking orders like my good little soldier.”  
  
Tracer could only let out a needy whine as tension coiled in the pit of her stomach, so desperate to turn the pleasure flooding her veins into the mindless ecstasy of orgasm. Her mouth wrapped around Mercy’s clit and sucked hard enough to tear a short cry from the doctor’s throat, quick circles of her tongue working right beneath the sensitive hood.  
  
The burning in Tracer’s blood during the meeting was nothing compared to now, fraying threads of restraint the only thing keeping her from popping like she’d been dropped straight in lava. Lucio had shown her a video of that once, some compilation where everything from soda to soup tins were chucked into the blazing heat only to promptly explode, and that funny memory was just enough of a distraction to make her last the duration of Mercy’s orgasm, loud enough to ring in Tracer’s ears and soak her chin.  
  
“Now, can I–” She could barely choke out the words as Mercy moved down her body, putting them face-to-face.  
  
When their eyes met, Mercy smiled. “Come for me, Lena.”  
  
The doctor never looked more like an angel than in that moment, her mussed blonde hair blurring to a golden halo as Tracer finally – praise all the gods and fucking saints _finally_ – came, thrashing underneath Mercy until she saw white, a warning to remember and breathe while bliss flooded her system. She panted and cursed, the relentless vibration of the toy carrying her from one earth-shattering orgasm to a second just a moment later, pleasure rolling through her in waves until the remote was clicked again.  
  
Even with the vibrator off, Tracer felt an echo of the sensation for a good minute, her hips twitching up into that invisible pressure as Mercy unzipped her dress and cast it aside. She only had a few seconds to appreciate the lacy white lingerie underneath before the older woman sunk down between her thighs, yanking her knickers and the toy up over her bent knees and down past both ankles.  
  
“Angela–” The name came out as a faint whine before broad strokes of Mercy’s tongue started to open her up, swollen folds parting eagerly under the attention.  
  
Tracer threw her head back against the pillow as slender fingertips teased against her entrance, but Mercy hesitated only a moment before a pair of fingers thrust forward to the knuckle. She was tight, but far too wet for more than token resistance, and the combination of that slow stretch and Mercy’s mouth painting slick stripes around her clit wrenched a breathless cry out of Tracer’s throat.  
  
“Thank you, thank you, thank you–” She gasped the words like a prayer, hands clutching at the sheets until her knuckles turned white.  
  
“You’ve been so patient, so perfect.” Mercy murmured, and her hot breath against Tracer’s clit brought out a full-body shiver in turn. “Give me one more, sweetheart.”  
  
She obeyed without thinking, tightening around every thrust of Mercy’s fingers and almost crying in sheer relief as the older woman’s lips and tongue coaxed her through a third orgasm. The tension in Tracer’s body was utterly spent, pulse beating so fast it echoed like a drum in her head, but she was warm all over, suspended in an incredible afterglow. Everything felt soft and fuzzy at the edges, even her own limbs, and when Mercy’s fingers withdrew, she shuddered.  
  
“I didn’t lose you, did I?” A gentle hand stroked Tracer’s hair, brushing back a few sweat-damp strands from her brow.  
  
“I don’t know, love.” She managed to mumble. “Kind of feel like I’m floating on cloud nine right now.”  
  
“Cloud nine is fine.” Mercy answered, letting out a soft laugh as she placed a light kiss against Tracer’s mouth. “When you come back down to earth, I owe you a few more orgasms.”  
  
Tracer blinked, dumbfounded. “You do?”  
  
“One for every day you lasted.” Now the desire in those blue eyes was of a different sort, and Tracer realized she was in over her head all over again. “I think with the proper stimulation, we can get to seven before midnight.”  
  
Bloody hell. When it rained, it poured.  
  
–


End file.
